Page 21 of Snow Storm

Claude’s ears burned. “We, euh…we met by accident.”

Dorsey folded his hands under his chin and smiled at him. “Either you spill, or I go become his next best friend and he tells me everything.”

Claude groaned, leaned back with his hands over his face, and between one breath and the next, he spilled his guts.

“Christ on a bike and the twelve disciples on a minibus,” Dorsey breathed out like Christmas had come early. He took a deep breath in, then burst into laughter. “You…you p-pretended to be amasseuse?”

“Masseur,” Claude corrected irritably.

Dorsey’s eyes were bright with tears. “You really put your foot in it if you’re being pedantic right now.” He rubbed at his cheeks. “Feck’s sake. Okay. So you got your hands all over him. I know about a dozen people who would do a murder to be whereyou were this afternoon. You have no idea how hot the internet is for this poor sod.”

Claude was both surprised and unsurprised. Harley was beautiful in a sort of unassuming way. He was shorter, chubbier, and more socially awkward than what Dorsey always called the men in the “thirst traps” he sent to Claude. But somehow, it worked for him in a big, big way.

Claude hadn’t been enamored of anyone like this in a long time.

Maybe ever, if he was being honest with himself.

He was starting to question things now that Dorsey was forcing him to look at his own actions. Three weeks ago, the idea of him going out of his way to do something like this to make a random stranger comfortable would have been laughable.

It would have beenabsurd.

It would’ve been out of the question because there wasn’t anything on the planet that would have made him pretend to be a masseur just to make someone’s day better.

And now?

Now, he couldn’t wait for Harley’s next appointment. He wanted to get his hands on him again. He wanted to touch him all over. He wanted to hear his voice, and listen to his laugh, and watch the nervous way he twitched like he was fighting the urge to enjoy Claude’s hands on him.

And, oddly, he wanted to tell him the truth about who he was and what he’d done.

“What do I do?”

Dorsey made a choking noise as he stretched his feet out. “How the hell should I know? Mate, this is probably the one question that could stump Google.”

Claude groaned and pressed his hands over his face. “I’m about to run out of all my masseur skills.”

“The fact that you have any at all is amazing,” Dorsey said, chuckling softly. “That’s probably something youcouldGoogle though, if you want to keep up this façade.”

Claude grimaced. At some point, Daniel would be back, and he’d have to come clean then—assuming Harley was still with them. But he had no idea how Daniel was recovering—or how long Harley needed to take cover from the public.

And he wasn’t exactly in a hurry to kick the man out. They were about to be snowed in for at least a few weeks, which meant they’d have some time to get to know each other.

“I think I want him to know me.”

Dorsey let out a low whistle. “Does this mean your self-imposed chastity is over?”

“Celibacy,” Claude said irritably. “And no, this means nothing.” The words tasted like a lie. “I don’t know what it means.” He felt suddenly defensive and uncomfortable. But sex always was now that his body functioned differently. He hadn’t been with anyone since Anabelle, and the last time she’d touched him was the night before he fell.

“Hey.” Dorsey leaned toward him and snagged his hand. “I’m sorry. I was just taking the piss.”

Claude hated that he was so sensitive. He wanted to be able to joke around with everyone else, but he wasn’t ready for it to be funny. Sex was a thousand times more complicated now than it had been before his fall. He’d gotten the use of his legs back, and he rarely needed a catheter to take a piss. But getting hard wasn’t the same as it had been. Sensations were dulled and muted. He didn’t always feel it.

He didn’t always enjoy it.

And he knew, deep down, that was one of the things that had killed his marriage. Anabelle had needed more from him, and instead of working past his anger and frustration, he’d shutdown. He blamed her for the cheating. It had been a cruel twist of the knife to find her in his office.

But the path that led to her choices had been paved with his own inability to see that she needed more from him.

He wasn’t the same man back then as he was now, but he also couldn’t be certain he’d go back and change things. He only wished that he didn’t feel driven by his fear of getting hurt. That he wasn’t motivated to reject every prospect that crossed his path before they could reject him.

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